Esgalion's Mask
by Elf of Rohan
Summary: When Thranduil's daughter goes missing, Esgalion immediately sets off to search for his closest friend. But with him he carries a shocking secret, a secret that may keep the beloved princess in the darkness forever... Rated T for violence, just to be safe. This is my first fic.
1. Chapter 1: Searching

_**One**_

_Searching_

Leaves crunch under my feet as I trudge through the dark, dank halls of Mirkwood. My boots, along with any other article of clothing I possess, are worn and caked with mud, so much so that I have been mistaken for one of the Rangers of the North on more than one occasion. My dark green hood is pulled up over my head and a matching cloth works as a mask to cover my features. Some of the arrows in my quiver are broken, and my sword could use some sharpening, but for some odd reason my bow has managed to stay somewhat intact. The cold wind penetrates my clothing, chilling my fair skin. But I ignore the hardships. Because another matter preys upon my mind and forces me to carry on.

Thranduil's daughter is missing.

She has been for the past month.

And I must search for her. Alone. Because not a soul, not a being can see my face.

I have practically torn the wood apart looking for her. My search started the moment she disappeared, because if she is in pain, I am. If she cries, I cry. Our relationship, as it has been for as long as we have lived, is more intimate that anyone ever realized. Alas, it is most likely more intimate than we even realize.

I remember the days that she laughed, danced, sang, smiled. The memories bring joy to my heart and their hope lightens my load. But more recollections rampage my mind: those of the fateful day that changed both of us, and the rest of the kingdom, forever.

I can hear the shrieks of the Orcs.

I can smell the putrid reek of their freshly killed flesh.

And I can see the body of our queen lying amongst the litter of black carcasses.

The loss of Estelwen was indeed a grievous blow to us all, but none more so than to her daughter. For days Caladhiel despaired, cried, battled with the confusion that comes with this horrid thing called death. (As Elves, sometimes we forget that it is not only a curse for the mortal Men. The day we neglect it is the day it usually strikes…) But her strength, which she inherited from both her parents, prevailed, and for what seemed the long span of the ages, she lived on. Her smile returned. Her sweet voice floated in on the wind, rivaling the songs of the nightingales. Her nimble feet danced. Along with her happiness, her fire returned.

But then something else came to rival her strength and seize her gladness away.

A suitor came calling. Persistently. Though he was of noble blood (the son of one of Thranduil's most distinguished generals), Caladhiel shunned him. He did not fit into the puzzle of her heart. However, Sereg eventually swayed an indecisive Caladhiel over to his side, and for a time, it seemed as if she had truly made up her mind to wed him. The day before the wedding was the day she went missing.

I know nothing of the reactions to her disappearance, for I left before anyone else knew, but I have my suspicions. Thranduil and Sereg are both almost certainly convinced that she has been mysteriously captured and is in some great danger. But her brother, Legolas, most likely suspects that she is making a desperate attempt to escape the marriage.

I know for a fact that the latter is correct. No one knows Caladhiel like I do.

But how she could have survived for this long astounds me. She has limited skills with a bow and sword, so it must take a miracle for her to defend herself. (Mirkwood is not the kindest of places. Drakes, spiders, goblins prowl the wood, searching for prey. And they would all see the princess as a choice meal.) I have more faith in her hunting ability, mainly because deer and conies do not fight back. And a month is more than enough time for improvement in these areas if one is not killed first. Nevertheless, if she is alive now, she is a walking marvel.

I continue my search, taking great care to stay away from the search parties that roam the wood. Part of me is thankful that Legolas will not be among them, as he has apparently set out for Imladris. Even in seclusion, news like this can still reach my ears. While hiding from the others, I overhear conversations, watching intently from the shadows.

I feel as if I am always concealing myself. My name, Esgalion, even means "son of the hidden one." But the more I hide, the less combat I see. If my enemies cannot find me, they cannot fight me. And I am much better at hiding than at fighting. Do not be mistaken: I do have strength and fire in my heart. But lately cowardice has veiled me. And hiding is so much easier…

I am no warrior. However, I fight when I must. And I consider this one of these times.

The cold is inevitable. I decide to gather twigs and risk a fire, for I have seen no signs of other parties for a few days. Soon enough the orange effulgence shoots from the brush, giving me the light and warmth I crave. I retrieve the rabbit's meat that I have in my small pack and use one of my broken arrows for a spit. Now the meat roasts over the fire. When my fingers, whose tips stick out of my worn gloves, are warmed, they close around my water skin. The mask comes off; I sip the water quickly and scarf the rabbit down.

Because no one can see my face.

Now I sit by the fire, planning my next move. I know that there are many search parties scattered throughout all of Mirkwood (even a few in the southern region), but I deem that there are none searching _outside_ of her leafy borders. I decide that that should be my destination. Caladhiel could be anywhere.

I retrace my steps to gain my bearings. Yesterday I know I came across the Road that separates Northern Mirkwood from Southern Mirkwood. If I find it again, I can follow it westwards out of the woods and continue in that direction towards the Misty Mountains. Of course, I will stay out of sight range and conceal myself in the brush while using the Road as a guide. I dare not risk being seen. I will then follow the Anduin southwards. Perhaps I shall cross it and enter Lothlórien. I know not my exact route. For I know not what I will face on the journey from here to Lothlórien.

I gaze up at the forest roof. Thought it blocks my eyes from the sun and sky, I can tell by the few hole in its canopy that the afternoon grows old. And with the afternoon comes night. At night, anywhere one can travel in Middle Earth suddenly transforms into an even more eerie and dangerous place. With the cover of blackness, Orcs, Wargs, goblins roam more freely, for their worst enemy, the Sun, has retired. In Mirkwood, the dangers are multiplied. Though we face few Orcs and next to no Wargs, drakes slink in the shadows. Spiders the size of wolves tiptoe in the night, searching for prey. Goblins prowl, their shrieks and growls resonating through nature's halls; the trees seem the shudder at their presence. There are even accounts of dragons lurking through the wood. Snakes. Wolves. And most gravely: the mysterious threats from Dol Guldur to the south. I dare not venture there. I hope to the Valar that Caladhiel has not either.

I wonder at how she even makes it through the night. Perhaps she sleeps in the tops of the trees as I do, if she can even sleep at all. Most threats are bereft of that gift. There is only one disadvantage of height: one eventually must come down. And if one is surrounded, that can be rather challenging. But the benefits highly outweigh the cons.

Suddenly feeling the urge to get back on the move, I stamp out the fire and scatter the ashes. A stream slinks by me, the water murmuring to me. I am unfamiliar with it; I do not trust it. Suddenly I am thankful that my water skin is full.

My eyes and ears search for any living sign of Caladhiel. Always I am met by disappointment. I must have misjudged just how well she knows the woods, for she has proved to be an excellent runner. The hunting trips she took with her father and brother must have been more than I though they were. Either that or the princess carries a map in her head. One of her favorite pastimes was to stroll through the wood with her father or to explore on her own, so she is most likely is more familiar with the roads, streams, and deer paths than I realize.

Suddenly a rustling in the leaves snatches me from my thoughts. Instinctively I look for thick bushes to crouch in or a tree with low limbs that will be easy to climb. To my sharp chagrin, I find none that give the cover I desire. Slowly, I pull an arrow from my quiver and fit it to my bow. When the crunch of footsteps resumes, the bow shoots upwards, the string taut. Fear courses through me; I fight to keep it from registering in my eyes. Somehow, I know I am failing. For this time, I cannot hide.


	2. Chapter 2: Rangers

_**Two**_

_Rangers_

Once again the brush rustles. My shaking hands can hardly hold the arrow to the bow. I feel the enemy's presence; tension rises when whatever it is decides to pounce. As the creature hurls itself at me, I fire. By some miracle I manage to hit it. It howls when the arrow pierces its thick skin. Now that it has slowed down, I get a better look as it snarls, hisses, sneers at me, its black lips curling back to show an unforgiving set of teeth.

Drake.

Its heavy golden wings flatten against its scaly back. Dark blood oozes from the wound in the monster's right shoulder. Terrible yellow eyes glare at me, taunting me, curtly informing me that not only have I not killed it, I have made it very angry. Snarling, it crouches. I can see the power loading up in its strong legs; its claws carve ruts in the tender earth.

Rapidly I load my bow. No sooner have I raised it does the drake fly at me, claws extended, teeth bared, wings beating furious winds. My arrow flies. The creature jerks back, crying out in pain. The feather sticks out of the monster's left leg. This time, however, the drake remains aloft, its own weapons poised for use. Claws fly at my face; somehow I duck and the huge mass of scale and muscle barrels over my head. I leap to my feet and draw another arrow, letting it fly as soon as it is loaded. Thanks to my haste, I miss. Again an infuriated drake swoops down at me. I leap out of the way, making a hard landing on top of a protruding root and knocking the wind out of myself.

I manage to stagger to my feet a few seconds too late. The drake is rushing violently at me; by the time I've regained enough of myself to dodge the blow, its claws are already tearing the flesh on my arm. A rip is made in the deep green cloth, immediately filling with blood. My sleeve is stained a rusty brown. I fail to stifle my outcry.

At this point the drake very well could be laughing at me as it hovers above my head, its horrible expression jeering as it lands. Weakened by our wounds, we stare at each other. Fear, which has somewhat been pushed down by the adrenaline rush, slithers back into my heart. I know by the look in its eye that this time, the drake will go for the kill. But I cannot allow myself to be its prey.

Still stunned from the blow, I fumble in my quiver for an arrow. As I fit it to the notch, the drake slinks forward slowly, hissing my demise. More blood is squeezed out of my arm as I pull the bowstring taut. It screams under the exertion, but my determination to live quiets its cries. A fire rises in my heart, waging its own battle to burn off my dread. I can feel my brow knitting with the tempest of my emotions, and my teeth begin to bare. My focus is zeroed in on the monster's throat. To my horror, the drake seems to mirror my actions.

The drake squats.

I raise my weapon.

The winged menace launches fury into the air.

My arrow flies.

And, only by some gracious work of Elbereth herself, it sinks into the monster's throat.

A final cry of pain escapes the drake as it plummets. It moans when it crashes to the ground with a _thud. _

Thanking the Valar for my life, I draw my sword, for the monster is still alive. Sweat pours down my face and into my eyes as I hack off the drake's head, putting it out of its misery. Panting, I take a few steps away and collapse onto soft ground. I try to catch my breath as I wipe the blade on the green moss that surrounds me. When the metal's dull luster returns, I sheathe the weapon. Now my hands fumble for my water skin. The cool, soothing liquid glides down my throat. I still have sense enough to abstain from chugging the entire thing down. I know not when I will come across a reliable water source be able to fill it again, so I must ration it.

Somewhat revived, I stand and make my way to the carcass. Slowly, carefully, I work my arrows from its flesh, as my need to conserve them is great. Gingerly I wipe the blood from them and return them to my quiver. I then cast about for the last arrow, the one that only hit air. I find it when I nearly step on it. Perfectly, miraculously intact, it joins the others in the safety of my quiver. Gladly I turn and leave the crumpled, battered corpse behind.

The sun sets, painting a wonderful array of colors in the sky before she finally bids the rest of the world goodnight. Now the stars peek out and dot night's black canopy with light. I put at least two miles between me and the corpse before lethargy takes hold of me. It does not take long for me to find a good, sturdy tree to sleep in. As nimbly as I can manage I climb the sturdy oak, settling in on a wide, strong branch. As soon as I am comfortable, I take a look at the wound on my arm. Though it still throbs, it is not as severe as I had initially thought, and the bleeding seems to have alleviated. I find myself wishing for something to bind it with as I drift off.

_Crackle, crrrack, cr-crackle. _The sound awakes me, accompanied with the distinct smell of smoke. My senses slap me to rigid attention; immediately I begin to search for the source of the disturbances. I see the small campfire about six feet from my tree. Around it sit two hunched figures clad in earthy, olive greens and muddy browns, their clothing every bit as worn as mine, if not worse. One tends to the fire, the other smokes a crude pipe with his back propped against my tree.

Rangers.

A spit with meat sits over the fire; the tantalizing odor of food causes my mouth to water. As I sit up, my hands instinctively close around my weapons. My heart rate and breathing increase with my growing fear. Instinct is the root of my immediate distrust.

As soon as I move, a small branch snaps, landing right beside the dozing Ranger. He immediately jumps, nearly dropping his pipe.

Across the fire, the second's head shoots up. "What is it, Aradan?"

"Something is in the trees," Aradan replies, frantically scanning the canopy.

I freeze, hardly daring to breathe.

After taking a quick look himself, his companion cocks an eyebrow. "I see nothing," he gruffs.

"A twig just landed right beside me!" Aradan says, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"A squirrel, most likely," the other Ranger muses.

"Maybe," Aradan agrees, beginning to settle down.

Slowly, carefully, I shift to get a better view. The adjustment proves to be a mistake.

Once again Aradan nervously whips around, his grey eyes searching the tree tops.

His companion sighs. "What is it _now_, Aradan?"

"Something is moving," Aradan worries.

The other Ranger rolls his eyes. "Aradan-"

"I swear to you, Orodben, there is something up there! Something rather large!" He fumbles for his decrepit bow. "And given our location, dangerous!"

Orodben heaves a noisy sigh.

I know Aradan is becoming anxious. "You saw the drake carcass back in the clearing! It is a warning sign!"

"It was barely a yearling. And quite small for a drake," Orodben grumbles.

"But it was a drake nonetheless!"

"Sweet Elbereth, Aradan! Peace!" Orodben snaps.

As the two continue to argue, I slowly load my own bow. It is best, I deem, to be prepared since my friends seem to see me as a threat. I rest the weapon against my thigh, ready to snatch it up when the time comes. And come it does.

Aradan is now on his feet.

"There is something above us! In that tree! I just saw it move!"

Sighing, Orodben heaves his burly form up. "All right, where is it?" he inquires skeptically.

Aradan merely points in my direction in response.

I raise my bow and pull the string taut. I will not fire unless fired upon first.

I know Orodben has seen me, for he is now snatching his bow from the forest floor and fitting an arrow to it. As his bow flies up, Aradan's hand slips to his sword hilt.

I perch in the tree, holding my breath. My arm is screaming.

To my shock, Orodben's arrow whizzes towards me. The breeze from it spits in my ear.

"_Raich!" _I loudly blurt.

Orodben loads another arrow, but Aradan pushes his bow down. "Wait!" he demands, taking a few steps towards my tree. He looks up and his eyes lock with mine. When he sees my loaded bow, he jumps back.

"Peace, friend! Do not shoot!"

Warily I lower my bow, eyeing him suspiciously.

Aradan smiles. _"Mae govannen, mellon nin!" _he calls to me warmly.

I am immediately taken by surprise. The Ranger knows Sindarin! _"Suilaid," _I reply, my voice barely audible.

"You may come down," he says amiably. "I promise, my comrade and I will not hurt you. We are friends of your kin."

Hesitantly I return the arrow to my quiver. But this is as far as I can make myself go. I stare back at the Ranger.

Aradan turns to Orodben. "Put the weapons away. This is one of Thranduil's folk."

With the realization, Orodben hastily shoves his arrow back in his quiver and throws his bow down. "My apologies for firing upon you," he says. "Please, come down."

The sincerity in both their voices consoles me enough to unfreeze me. Never letting my guard down, I cautiously descend the branches. Leaves crunch under my feet when they land on the forest floor.

Once again Aradan smiles. Its warmth begins to penetrate my distrust. For now.

"Please, sit down," he says.

Tentatively I obey. It is hard refuse the warmth of a fire on a morning as chilling as this one has proved. When I lay eyes upon the spit, which appears to have venison on it, my stomach growls.

Aradan sits beside me. He moves slowly; I know he has picked up on my suspicion. He even removes his sword belt and casts it aside. "I am Aradan. My friend over there is Orodben. What is your name?"

"Esgalion," I mutter stiffly.

Aradan appears to be about to say something, when a look of concern crosses his features. His eyes travel to the cuts on my arm. "You're hurt," he says softy, making a small move towards me.

Instinctively I jerk back.

"Peace," he soothes. "I mean you no harm."

With that, he slowly takes my arm in his hands. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

"Orodben," he says, "Get me my pack."

Orodben grabs a small leather satchel and sets it beside Aradan, who reaches in and retrieves a small bundle. A sweet fragrance fills my nostrils when he unties it. Inside are healing herbs. I immediately know the plant; I have seen it much in Thranduil's halls. Athelas.

Aradan takes a pinch of the athelas and further examines the lacerations. "These look like claw marks," he observes. Another smile spreads across his face. "You must be the slayer of the drake we saw a few miles back."

I nod.

"It must have put up some fight," Orodben adds.

Once again I nod, but this time more fiercely.

Orodben and Aradan both chuckle.

Gently Aradan lays the herbs inside the wounds. I wince, but as soon as the pain arrives, it is soaked away. A soothing sensation rushes through my arm, and I can feel the strength returning. The stiffness fades as Aradan wraps it with a bandage from his pack.

I wonder if the Ranger can see my soft smile through the mask. _"Le hannon,"_ I say softly.

He only smiles in response.

* * *

**Elvish phrases:**

_**Raich! ~ Curses!**_

_**Mae govannen, mellon nin! ~ Well met, my friend!**_

_**Suilaid ~ Greetings**_

_**Le hannon ~ Thank you **_


	3. Chapter 3: Company

**First off, let me say that I am SOOOOOOOO sorry for taking so long to update! Between school, extracurricular, traveling, and getting sick, I haven't really had much time to write. That, and I'm writing a novel, and my main focus is on it. But once again SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO O TERRIBLY REMARKABLY UNDENIABLY ARDENTLY SORRY!****  
**

* * *

**Three**

_Company _

The more time I spend in the company of Orodben and Aradan, the more I see just how unprepared I really am for a trek into the wilderness. Inside their packs, which are much larger and stronger than my flimsy little sack, there are a great number of apparent necessities that I, in my mad dash to escape Thranduil's halls, had forgotten in my scrambled state of mind: a coil of rope, blankets (an item of which I pine after whenever the sun goes down), foodstuffs, even the very healing herbs and bandages used to tend to my arm.

As I think back to my wild hurry, I realize just how lucky I am that I remembered flint and steel, or even sound weapons for that matter.

Even now I do not fully trust the Rangers, and it has taken me what seems an age to warm up to Orodben. I only ever eat or drink when not in their presence, or under the cover of darkness when they are deep in sleep's clutches, for I cannot risk them seeing my face. I only ever speak when spoken to, and the words are concise and quiet. However, Aradan's reassuring smile can sometimes pry a bit more out of me, especially if Orodben lies snoring on the forest floor. Tonight, Orodben does just that.

Aradan's back is propped against the trunk of a sturdy tree. Contentedly he smokes his pipe, softly crooning to himself. I sit across from him, warming my hands before its flames and occasionally adding more timber to it. This night is a cold one, frigid for late October. Hunger begins to gnaw at my stomach, but I must wait until Aradan falls asleep, or find some excuse to get up and away from him. Taking note of the alertness of his countenance, I deem that the latter will come first, so I search for a justification for my leaving.

The fire begins to die down. I turn to my left, where my pile of timber sits. I throw the last of it, which is not much at all, into the flames and stand up.

Aradan takes his pipe from his mouth. "Where are you going?" he inquires.

"To fetch more timber," I reply. With that, I grab my satchel and disappear into the shadows.

Serene darkness envelops me as I slip the mask off of my face. The chill of night immediately bites at the exposed skin, but my hunger, as always, dulls the cold immediately. As quickly as I can I shove venison in my mouth and gulp down as much water as I can handle. A rustle in the leaves startles me, and I almost drop my water skin in my clumsy hurry to pull the mask back up.

My timing is impeccable, because just then Orodben comes through the trees.

"Where are you going?" he inquires.

I give him a puzzled look. "To get more firewood. Did I not already tell you so?"

"Then why do you have your pack?"

I rack my brains for an answer, but silence in the only explanation that I can give him.

A skeptical look washes over Orodben's face. "Do you not know that it is dangerous to travel alone in these woods at night?"

A slight bit of anger mixes in with my perplexity. "I am not leaving you, if that is what you are concerned about."

"That's not what worries me."

"Then what is it?"

Orodben's voice drops when he finally speaks. "At least three times a day, around the same time of day, you disappear. You always look about you as if some wretched creature could jump out and slit your throat at any moment. When I am awake, you barely speak a word, but I know that you are much friendlier with Aradan."

As he speaks, I begin to pick up twigs, sticks, foliage for the fire. I am desperately trying to shut him out.

"And you are ignoring me now."

Still I keep to my work.

"What is it that troubles you so, Esgalion? Why are you so uneasy?"

I sigh. "Perhaps I have good reason to be uneasy, especially in these dark times. And in this place." I fight to keep my words from being too curt.

The look on Orodben's face tells me that my response is not good enough.

I suddenly realize that I have never forgiven him for firing that arrow on the day of our meeting. A pang of guilt hits me.

But just as I am about to speak, the haunting howl of a wolf pierces the night. A chill shoots up my spine as more rise up in answer. I instinctively freeze.

Orodben's eyes grow wide. "Well, Esgalion, I'd say your point has been proved for you this night."

Now the cries of the pack ricochet off of every plant and rock in the forest.

I begin to glance around, half expecting to find a pair of glowing yellow eyes penetrating the darkness. Immediately I move back in the direction of our little encampment, with Orodben on my heels.

When we arrive back, Aradan has replaced his pipe with a sword. His alertness and apprehension multiply by the second. For a moment, we can merely exchange worried glances.

At last he speaks. "They are close."

As if on cue, another howl gurgles up in response.

Orodben sighs. "Put out the fire."

Immediately I begin the stamp on the flames as Orodben snatches up his bow. While Aradan scatters the ashes, I gather my belongings and shoot up the nearest tree. Soon enough, Orodben and Aradan are mimicking my actions. Both mine and Orodben's bows alike are loaded. Mine rests on my knee, ready to be snatched up when the time comes.

Seconds pass like slugs in mud. Bone-chilling howls and barks continue to rise up out of the wood. We stay perched in our tree, barely daring to breathe. As the night drones on, fear sinks its poison even deeper into my pounding heart. But though fright courses through my veins, sleep does not elude Orodben and Aradan. I can only sit in the tree, praying to the Valar to keep Orodben from snoring.

Just barely after another wolf's bay, a lightning bolt streaks across the sky. Thunder rumbles, and rain begins to fall, seeping through my clothing and kissing my skin. It flows downhill in little torrents, taking our scent with it.

_Thank the Valar…_

As I begin to relax, my thoughts wander to Caladhiel. I ask myself if I should speak to the Rangers about her as I doze off…

The odors of smoke and roasting meet draw me from my dreams. I shake myself to alertness. Orodben and Aradan have left the tree, and are sitting around a small campfire in their usual fashion. Scattered all around them are what seems like thousands upon thousands of wolf tracks.

I descend the branches and plop down by the flames beside Aradan. Realizing that my bow is still loaded, I shove the arrow back in my quiver.

"We were lucky," he says. "Had the storm not come, we must assuredly would have been found."

"I awoke once during the night," Orodben adds, "and the wolf pack was wandering by right underneath our tree, snarling and growling. It was a close call."

"Indeed," Aradan agrees.

"You saw them too, did you not?" Orodben asks, turning to me. "You were awake when I was."

I shake my head. "I was not."

Confusion writes its mark on Orodben's face. "Your eyes were wide open."

In spite of myself, I chuckle. "I was asleep, Orodben, but my people do not sleep in the sense that men do. We rest out minds, and yes, during that time, our eyes are open."

Amused perplexity is all I receive as a response.

Aradan smiles. "It confused me at first as well, my friend," he says. "During my time among Thranduil's folk, I learned much about them. And I must say, some of their ways can seem rather strange at first. But, it is a mystical sort of strange. Fascinating may yet be a better word to describe it."

I shrug. "I find nothing mystical in constant feasting, ancient songs, or meticulous warfare," I mutter.

Aradan laughs out loud.

Orodben leans forward and takes the meat off the fire. After taking some for himself, he hands the spit to Aradan, who gives the rest to me. As they eat, I can only awkwardly stare at the food, trying to find yet another reason to excuse myself.

I survey my surroundings. Wolf tracks are the only things that meet my gaze. Slowly I begin to formulate an excuse to leave.

"What is it, Esgalion?" Aradan inquires.

"Exactly how many wolves were there?" I ask Orodben.

Orodben shrugs. "I know not, but it was a rather large pack."

A slow moment slinks by before I speak again. "Their tracks may lead to water," I say, hesitantly standing up. "I am going to have a look around. My water skin is running low." With that, I turn and leave, feeling the heat of Orodben's uneasy gaze on my retreating form.

As I walk away, I hear him mutter, "Do you find it strange that he always leaves at mealtimes?"

A brief silence precedes Aradan's reply. "It is a bit peculiar."

"Suspicious?"

"I think not." Aradan's words are calm and cool. "You must remember, Orodben, it has taken him much to trust us. We did not exactly give the best first impression, that, and the Elves are a rather elusive folk."

"This is true," Orodben agrees. "Esgalion is one of the few I have ever seen. And you know much more of their ways than I do, given the fact that it was you that lived among them for a time."

"I also traveled with them for about a fortnight, before I was reunited with you."

"Were they hunting?"

Aradan sighs. "In a sense."

"What mean you?"

Once more Aradan sighs. "It was a search party. For Thranduil's daughter."

My heart stops.

Aradan continues. "She had been missing for three days when I found the convoy." His voice takes on a saddened tone. "It is a pity that harm would come to her. She is very beautiful, fair of face and sweet and strong of spirit." He chuckled. "And not bad with a bow and arrow either." He sighed. "I never had a chance to speak with her, as I only caught a few glimpses of her, and now it seems that I never will."

This is all I can make myself listen to. One thought continually runs through my mind as I devour my breakfast and make my way back to camp: _They know of Caladhiel? Why in all of Arda did they not tell me? _


	4. Chapter 4: Pining

**Four**

_Pining_

Searching. That is all we ever seem to do now. The days go by with a blatant routine. We have breakfast, during which I conjure up some excuse to leave, and then we are off. Rarely do we ever stop for a midday meal (something of which I was forced to quickly adapt to). Throughout the day and well into the night, we keep our eyes peeled for any signs of Caladhiel. And every day it is the same. No trace. Not even a scratch.

Aradan and Orodben begin to wonder if she vaporized into thin air. But I know for a fact that she is out here. Somewhere. And most likely, she is hiding.

There are times when I regret the night when I finally told them of my true mission, for with Aradan at the head of our little troop, we almost never rest. She constantly rests on his mind, and now that he knows of my friendship with her, he always asks questions as we sit around the fire at night. I, however, am not usually inclined to speak of her. Oftentimes, he stares off wistfully into some imaginary distance, evidently thinking of her.

And I know he fancies her.

If it were at all possible, they would make a good match. Aradan is a strong and steady character with a heart of gold, and to those he loves, he is remarkably loyal (not unlike the princess). But he also knows how to respect a person's space without being too distant, a quality of which Caladhiel always pined for, and undoubtedly still does. If it were to ever happen, once he earned her trust, the relationship would soar. But alas, though he is one of the Dúnedain, he is still a mortal man. Thus he could never wed her, not without a stinging sacrifice from the princess and her house. And as much as Aradan respects her father, he would never want to put them through anything that drastic. However, his heart undoubtedly pines for her.

As we trudge through the wood, his face holds the same look of longing. When I catch his eye, sharp pangs of grief and even guilt hit me, for reasons that I cannot say. For reasons that I _will not_ say.

Soon enough sweet night is finally upon us. A contented sigh escapes me as I plop down on the soft ground, my aching feet practically screaming relief. Orodben mirrors my actions almost exactly, thrusting his pack off of his shoulder and quickly converting it to a makeshift pillow. Aradan gets a fire going and is soon distributing our nightly rations. After shoving his in his mouth and gulping it down, Orodben flops down and rolls over, grumbling something of which the only thing I can catch is my name. In a few minutes, he is snoring.

Too tired to even bother to think about getting up, I elect to wait until Aradan too is asleep before I eat my own ration. The Ranger sits as usual, with his back propped against a tree and his pipe in his mouth. He softly croons to himself, and when I finally recognize the tune and the lyrics I come to the complete decision that Aradan may have officially lost his mind.

The song of Beren and Luthien.

Of which I think he has renamed "the song of Aradan and Caladhiel" in his own mind.

Slightly annoyed, I lie back, yank my cloak around me, and let out an exasperated sigh. Perhaps if I pretend to sleep, he will stop with this nonsense. I curl up in a little ball and let my mind drift off just enough to make myself look asleep. For a while I lie there, perfectly still, hoping that eventually, he will stop.

The only thing that has evaded my mind is that Aradan always takes the first watch. I shall be listening to this for a good while…

All goes quiet and my mind fully drifts off.

For a while, I lie there dreaming of home. I can smell the venison. Taste the wine. Hear the soft, graceful pluck of the harps. See the king plopped on his throne with his legs propped on one side. Feel the warmth of a huge fire. Happiness. Safety. My mind drifts back to the good times, times of laughter. Before the curse. The Dwarves. The Dragon. And the battle that I was never meant to partake in that changed my life forever. Our greed had gotten the best of us that day, especially my own…

Just as the Warg pounces I wake with a start, and he melts away.

Aradan is bending over me. His hand still perches on my shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"It was only a dream." Automatically I know my reply is excessively curt. Regret slowly wrenches an apology out of me.

Silence comes over both of us as I sit up and stretch. The wind whistles. An owl hoots mournfully. Then all is eerily still.

Aradan sighs. "It is your watch."

I nod.

Quiet.

The Ranger's grey eyes do not leave my face. Finally he breaks the silence. And the randomness of his words completely catches me off guard.

"I was in these very parts of the wood, and I was attacked by a lone wolf. By some miracle, I managed to kill it, but I was gravely wounded. I dragged myself as far away from the area as I could, knowing full well that where one of those beasts is, others are bound to be. Little did I know that I was stumbling straight towards the Elvenking's palace. I did not make it to the gates. In fact, I did not see a single Elf.

"The trek took two days. I was exhausted. Finally, my wounds got the best of me, and I collapsed. I know not how long I lay there, but I know that I lost consciousness. I managed to regain it just as voices came into earshot. One of them was the princess's; the other, as I would learn later, belonged to her brother. The next I knew, she was kneeling beside me, hesitantly taking a pulse, trying to get words out of me, which would not come. Her brother joined her. I knew not if I was saved at the time; they both seemed wary (as the Mirkwood Elves always seem to be around strangers) -"

I cock an eyebrow, though I know this to be true.

"-and one was armed with a bow. Finally, after some debate, and despite the consensus that Thranduil would most likely be just as uncomfortable as they were, they took me in. Once again I lost consciousness. I awoke within the palace walls, tended to and safe.

"Eventually I would meet her formally, and thank her for saving my life. Still a bit wary, she spoke very little, in fact, she barely made eye contact. Her father," he said with a slightly nervous chuckle, "was much more straightforward. He did, however, eventually warm up to me, and I stayed with the Elves for more than a few fortnights. Which gives me all the more reason to grieve the loss of her."

"She is not dead. And she did not save your life. Thranduil did." My utterance is blunt and cold.

For some reason this abrupt story has made me wildly grumpy. That and my stomach is screaming for food. These things do not justify my words, though. I search for something kinder.

"But do not lose hope. As far as we know, she could be right under our very noses." My voice trails off on the last word of the stuttered sentence. Finally I force out more. "Get some sleep."

He rolls over and in seconds is sleeping soundly.

As soon as I know he will not rise until awoken, I yank my mask off and stuff as much food as I can handle at once in my mouth. Just as I am guzzling down my water does a sound come to my attention. Soft. Grungy. Terrifying.

Once again it hisses in my ear. Slowly, I pull the mask up, grab my bow and quiver, and stand, waiting for the growl's reemergence. When it sounds again, I tip toe off in its direction to investigate.

This proves to be a fatal mistake.

Piercing my ears are the grotesquely high-pitched shrieks of goblins.

Now the cries of the Rangers are mingling with them. Swords ring in the air. Orodben's bow hisses. By the sounds of it, my friends seem to holding their own. But are heavily outnumbered.

"Esgalion!" Aradan's desperate voice screams. "Esgalion!"

Overcome with sheer terror, I cannot bring my legs to move.

"Esgalion!"

I begin to tremble.

"Esgalion!"

Everything goes eerily silent.

My heart stops.

Finally I break the shackles of my fear. Adrenaline courses through me as I charge through the wood, my arrow drawn taut. I crash through the brush…only to find that I am too late.

The bodies of the goblins and broken arrow shafts litter the ground. The grass is drowning in their black blood. Orodben is nowhere to be seen. Not even a scrap of clothing attests to his existence, only a gruesome pool of bright red blood. Aradan, however, lies with his back propped against his tree, and axe wedged into his chest, his sword dead in his limp hand. By some miracle he is still alive.

"Esgalion…"

Stunned and stricken to the core, I stumble over to his side. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I kneel beside him.

"Where is Orodben?"

Aradan only shakes his head.

"They took him…didn't they?"

I am barely able to perceive his nod. His eyes do not leave my face. Pain is a mask that covers his features. The agony in his countenance causes my heart to shatter.

"I am so sorry…"

Despite the fact that he is dying, Aradan's grip on my shoulder is surprisingly strong.

"There was nothing you could have done," he whispers. "There were so many of them. They would have taken you, too."

"I would have died beside you!"

_No you wouldn't have,_ my conscience hisses. _You would have run away. You would have been hiding…like you are now. _

And all this time, I had convinced myself that I did not trust him. That my shunning of his friendship was justified. Even that I hated him. And worst of all…that there was nothing wrong with it. Now, as I sit here, helpless, watching him die, I realize that he was one of the best friends that I could have ever asked for. That he returned my glowers with a smile. And all I have ever done is hide anything and everything from him. Regret begins to tear me apart like a wild animal. For the first time in ages, tears fill my eyes.

"I am so sorry," I whisper. "For everything!"

"There is nothing to forgive," he replies.

Anger mingles with my grief. My voice raises up to a pained, almost hoarse, cry. "I have been nothing but cruel! Heartless! And now you have paid the ultimate price! I did not deserve your kindness then! And I do not deserve your forgiveness now!"

Though he cannot see my tears, I know he knows they are there.

"I offer it to you anyway," he says. "I beg you to take it."

Hesitantly I nod. _What kind of a man is this? _

"You will find Caladhiel?"

At the question, a huge, poisoned dagger wrenches its icy teeth into my heart. More hot tears spill down my cheeks. I can only nod. As I do so, his hand leaves my shoulder and travels up to the mask. So torn up am I that, for the first time, I do not shy away.

When he pushes my hood back, shock flies into his eyes, which quickly fill to the brim with tears. Raising a finger to my cheek, he whispers something that I cannot catch, then slips away.

By now, I am shamelessly and quite loudly sobbing.

For after all he had given me…all I gave in return was heartbreak.


	5. Chapter 5: Fight

**Five **

_Fight_

After what seems like ages, I finally begin to regain control of myself. My sobs finally subside, but my head aches with a dull, stormy pain. My eyes sting as if salt water has been poured into them. My heart screams in anguish.

Confusion whirls around me like a tempest. Immediately I curse my immortality, my inability to understand death. Perhaps if I did, it would not be so painful…

Anger courses through my veins, hotter than my blood could ever be. A voice inside eats away at my soul, chewing on the cords of my nerve and my sanity like a rat in the gatehouse. And I know that if the rope breaks, the gate will come crashing down, and I may never escape from the weight of my actions. My cowardice. Selfishness. Lies.

_Lies. _

The word echoes through my mind as I rip the mask off my face. With fiery anger and an icy heart, I stare at it. I can feel the stone walls of bitterness building a fatal fortress around my being. Tears stream down my face, for I know that there is only one way to knock the walls down.

Gritting my teeth and letting out a hoarse and chilling scream, I crumple the mask in my hand and throw it as far away as I can.

I then turn to Aradan, whose dull eyes still stare blankly off into nothingness. Gently I push his eyelids down and plant a soft kiss on his forehead. More sobs come on, and I haphazardly let them out. Finally I sit up and look around.

"And I cannot even find a proper place to bury you!" I whisper. "Sweet Elbereth, what more disgrace can I subject you to?"

So torn up am I that not one single pang of guilt hits my heart at the misuse of the Valar's name.

_And after all he gave you! You cannot even pay rightful respects! He has saved your life time and time again, and what do you give him in return? What can you give? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! _

The accusations of my conscience ring so loudly in my ears that I almost miss the blood curdling, bone chilling, unmistakable shriek.

My eyes widen in terror.

Both Aradan and Orodben have passed. And fate has dictated that I am to join them.

The hisses and snarls slink all the closer in the darkness.

Slowly, shakily, I heave myself up. My hand wraps around my sword hilt.

"If I am to die," I growl as my anger morphs into a fierce, ferocious power, "then I will give those monsters a fight that they will not soon forget!"

My sword whispers just as the first pair of yellow goblin eyes pierces the darkness. His own blade hisses as it is harshly whipped from its sheath.

With a loud, fell battle cry I charge forward, ramming my blade through my victim's gut before he even has a chance to lift his blade. Just as he falls, his black lips curl back into a vicious, yellow smirk.

I stumble a few steps back, momentarily surprised at my own ferocity. I rip my sword from his flesh just in time to block a blow from another goblin. Our swords ring as they clash, and I soon find myself fighting for my life against a very skilled opponent.

More goblins materialize from the thickness of the forest, surrounding me and my huge adversary in an impenetrable ring of black. Shrieks, growls, grunts, hisses fling themselves at me from all sides. The terrible guttural words of the Black Speech egg my enemy on. My own strength begins to fade.

Finally he succeeds at pinning me to the ground. My lungs are crushed under the bulk of his weight. His foul breath sends what little food my stomach held shooting back up. I just barely manage to keep it down. He stares down at me with a horrible gaze. My eyes fell, I return it, spewing a Sindarin curse at him. In response, I only get a cruel, cold laugh.

From his belt he produces a savage blade with a merciless curve.

I bite my lip. I will _not_, under any circumstances, give them the entertainment of a death dishonorably died.

A huge hand smashes the side of my face into the mud. Just as the blade bites into my skin, a harsh, gruff order erupts from the pack.

With a ruthless grunt, the goblin slowly removes his hand from my face, digging his claws into my cheek as he does so.

Out comes another order.

Before I can even blink, he rapidly rams the hilt of the weapon into the side of my head, and I know no more.

* * *

When I finally come to, I find myself dangling from a pole with my wrists and ankles tied together, a young deer being brought in from the hunt. I glance up ahead, and anger shoots through me when my eyes catch sight of Aradan in the same position. Limp as a bonefish, I can only pray as the rhythm of the goblins' steps rock my body and pop my joints.

Suddenly they stop. Black speech echoes eerily though the air.

Then they start again.

My blood freezes in my veins as my shrieking, grotesque captors haul me closer and closer to the mouth of an abysmal cave.

* * *

**CLIFFHANGER! MWAHAHAHA! :)**

**Sorry for the long wait that only resulted in a really short chapter. I will try to update again ASAP. Hope you enjoyed! **


	6. Chapter 6: Captive

**Six**

_Captive_

Though I know it to be completely futile, I begin to struggle. All I receive in return, however, are sharps blows with whatever weapon, wherever the assailant can hit. My head reels. My lungs cry for air. My soul begs for mercy.

I stop the resistance just long enough to see Aradan vanish into darkness. Grief strikes me harder than the fists of the goblins ever could. Fury pulses through me, somewhat dulling the pain. I begin to fight again, so much so that the goblin guards thrust me to the ground and beat me, hitting me again and again until my vision goes crooked and silence is the only cry I can make.

Roughly they hoist me back onto their shoulders.

One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four.

Chilling stories of goblin caves that an old friend once told me resurface after nearly sixty years of lying dormant. Tales of grotesque monsters, immeasurable darkness, savage torture devices. My blood runs cold as his recollections resurface, and the more I ponder it, the more I know for a fact that the situation is hopeless.

Or is it?

For the more I run the stories through my mind, the more prominent two facts become.

Goblins are not the brightest of creatures.

And he had escaped. Narrowly.

But my old friend was not tied to a pole like game either. Suddenly I realize that that is exactly what I am in the eyes of my captors.

Now the stagnant odor of cavern air drifts out of the mouth of the cave and right into my nostrils. My eyes begin to make out the shapes of stalactites and stalagmites, coming down from the roof and up from the floor like the jagged teeth of some unnamed wild animal.

Just as darkness reaches out to consume me, something like a bird whistles through the air.

Suddenly the goblin holding my head collapses with an all-too-familiar white arrow feather protruding from his hideous, wart-covered hide. Stunned, the other drops my feet.

Shrieks pour out from the throats of the goblins. Arrows sing a battle song as the ambush continues. Relief pours through my body and my soul when a party of Elves crashes through the trees with Sereg in the lead.

A band of four of them immediately rush to my side. Two work to free me of my bonds; the others fight off any goblins that dare to get close enough to recover their prey. Murmuring words that my spinning head can not perceive, they haul me to my feet. As soon as I attempt to walk, I collapse. One of my rescuers sweeps me off my feet and flies away from the fray, a small group following closely behind him. I look over his shoulder just in time to see the last of the goblins fall to Sereg's thirsty blade and the arrows of his soldiers.

The steady thump of hunters' march almost lulls me to sleep as I lie there; the only thing that robs me of peace is the memory of Aradan. Now more than ever I fight to keep tears back as we plod along. Finally, the pace slows and eventually stops.

Gently the Elf lays me down on a patch of moss. Pain pulses through my entire body. Completely helpless, I can only hope that they do not recognize me.

"Get a fire going." Sereg's deep, smooth voice carries the words. "Elhadron, do what you can to tend to the _ellon_." His eyes lock on my face as he speaks. "I know not who he is, but he is obviously one of us."

Elhadron, a smaller elf with an amiable face and a gentle demeanor, steps forward and kneels beside me. Compassion floods into his face and his movement slows. He has obviously picked up on the fear that I fight so desperately to hide.

"You have no reason to fear," he soothes, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder.

In response, my muscles begin to unlock.

"I am here to look after you. The goblins can no longer hurt you. What is your name?"

"Esgalion," I mutter, my voice barely audible.

"The Valar are certainly watching over you, Esgalion," Elhadron softly says with a smile.

Suddenly the fire crackles to life, its warmth radiating to my bones and even beginning to melt the ice around my heart. Sighing, I close my eyes, relaxing into the moss as if it were my own mattress back home.

Home. The more I think of it, the more I realize that I never should have left. My heart yearns for my father's strong embrace, my brother's clear, ringing laughter, my best friend's playful and almost mischievous eyes, even my horse's soft yet obstinate nuzzle. What I would give to see them all again…

The sound of Sereg's voice snaps me from my reverie. An untold anger rushes through my veins; determination flows back into my spirit. I can not forsake my mission, I tell myself. I cannot falter. I cannot abandon the princess…or myself. The new found courage starts to dull the pain of my wounds and injuries, quiet the rumbling of my stomach, beat down the whining of my body for sleep. My eyes shoot open.

Elhadron is still bending over me, this time with bandages, healing herbs, and a pot of steaming water at his side. He takes a pinch of the leaves in his fingers, breaks them, and sprinkles them into the pot. A sweet fragrance fills the air, sweeter than the athelas, calming my tension and even relieving some of the ache. He then picks up a small cloth and dips it into the pot. When he wrings it out, the water sings a soothing song as it whispers back into the mixture. I wince at first when it touches my face, but soon the pain is drawn out. The mask of dirt, blood, tears is wiped away. The only thing left to conceal my countenance are the bruises that warp my features. I deem, however, that they will not be enough.

Elhadron's brow furrows as deep thought waves over him. He stares straight into my eyes and sighs.

"I have seen you somewhere before…" he says a bit haltingly. "Were it not for those bruises, I would know you now. But the answer will come in time."

In truth, I too know him. Elhadron, born to a noble family as well, is not as much of a warrior as Sereg, but whatever he lacks in military prowess (which is not all that much) he makes up for in his fantastic skills as a healer. My life is in very trustworthy hands.

He takes a bandage and begins to wrap my wounds as best he can.

"Drink this," he says, taking a small flask and holding it up to my lips. "It will dull the pain."

Soon enough a smooth elixir glides down my throat, hot as fire and sweet as honey. Warmth spreads throughout my body all the way to my fingers and toes. My pain melts away. Not able and not daring to conjure up words, I nod my thanks.

A melancholy look passes over Elhadron's face. He stares at the ground as he corks the flask and sets it aside.

"After you were liberated, the rest of the scouts wiped out the entirety of the goblin party." He pauses. "They retrieved the body of a man. One of the Dúnedain. Did you know him?"

I close my eyes and force back the tears that have begun to prick them. Slowly I nod.

"He traveled with us for a time. And we are grieved at his passing. One could not have wished for a better friend." His eyes shift from the ground to my face. "Do you know what happened?"

I nod, but cannot bring myself to speak.

"You need not tell me now if you are not strong enough. Just rest easy. I shall be right here, should you need anything. Sleep now. You are well protected."

His words still ring in my ears and soothe me as I drift off.


	7. Chapter 7: Healing

**Seven**

_Healing_

When I awake, darkness has quietly descended on the wood. The encampment lies almost in a trance; the only things to break the silence is the soft crackle of the campfire and the lively chirp of crickets. Holes in the forest canopy reveal the stars that fleck the heavens, the paths of their light lining the sky like white ribbons in a sea of dark hair.

Stiffness has replaced my pain, and no matter how hard I try I cannot force my muscles into movement. I finally roll over, letting out a grunt with the effort. My eyes scream when the light of the fire pounces on them, but eventually they adjust, focusing in on the scene around it.

Both Elhadron and Sereg sit around the fire, the only two besides myself that are actually awake and alert. Elhadron shifts the logs and embers of the fire, causing a flame to shoot up into the darkness and cast an orange glow around his face. Sereg's hood is up, cloaking his countenance in shadows that automatically refine the sharpness of his features. Neither of them have seemed to notice me.

"Has the_ ellon _spoken to you?" Sereg abruptly inquires, snapping Elhadron from some sad reverie.

"_Tancavë._ A little. He was too weak to speak, for the most part. He was, however, able to tell me his name. Esgalion." He suddenly stops.

Sereg returns the silence with a questioning look.

"He knew Aradan. And apparently knows of what exactly happened to him. That came from a few nods."

Sereg nods. "Perhaps we will get more out of him when he recovers. And maybe some word on Caladhiel. I hope to the Valar that he has it." He sighs. "There was no evidence of her being with the goblins; however, that does not rule out the possibility that…"

A reassuring smile slowly paints itself on Elhadron's face. "We will find her, Sereg. We will."

"She has proven herself to be _very_ elusive," Sereg continues with a half-hearted and breathy laugh.

"Which may yet be a blessing in disguise."

"What mean you?"

"If we cannot find a trace of her, though we travel with some of Thranduil's best trackers, then our enemies will not easily find her, either."

"If they do not already have her! If I find that to be the case, every single one of those monsters will wish that they had never been born!" He heaves a pained sigh. "And for her to just vanish into thin air the night before the wedding…"

The tone of his voice sends a spear right through my heart.

"Suppose Legolas was right? What if she actually _is_ running?" Elhadron says. "Not that she would, but that very well could be a possibility. She may not _want_ to be found."

At his words, my pounding heart leaps into my throat.

For I know for a fact that she, indeed, does _not_ want to be found.

"She was acting rather strangely in the days leading up to her disappearance. But many brides are uneasy during that time."

"And if not? If fate proves Legolas to be in the right? What then?"

The answer sends a bolt of surprise through me.

"Then I cannot force her to comply. That would break her. We will melt the rings, and I shall find another. If the marriage does not have her blessing, then it cannot go on, no matter how much that may sting."

As soon as the words escape him, I know that I have sorely misjudged him. And so has Caladhiel.

"I want her happy. I want her safe. I want her _here_, so I could comfort her. She is most likely terrified, if she is even alive…"

"Peace, _mellon nin._ We will find her. I am sure of it. The Valar have already brought her through much. I know that they are watching over her now."

Silence rests over the camp once again. An owl hoots forlornly.

At last Sereg stirs.

"But this…Esgalion…I had never seen him or heard of him before the princess's disappearance. He must be a commoner of some sort. But he appeared to be clothed in the garb of a palace guard…"

"He is, but his armor is not as heavy as the norm."

"Strange…what would a palace guard be doing alone in the wild?"

Elhadron shakes his head. "I know not. He is a long way from home."

"Aren't we all?"

Elhadron laughs, then stiff silence comes over them again. This time, it is Elhadron that breaks it.

"He is rather small for an _ellon. _And there is something eerily familiar about him. I picked up on it as soon as he spoke. And the look in his eyes…I have seen it somewhere before. When I told him he seemed familiar, he immediately tensed up."

"Strange…" Sereg sighs.

"Reason for suspicion?"

"Perhaps. But I deem not." He pauses. "But what in all of Arda could he be hiding from us?"

"The answer will come in time, if there is indeed a need for one. I deem that being out in this chaos for so long has heightened all of our suspicions immensely."

"_Tancavë. _You are indeed wise to be able to see that, Elhadron. How badly was he beaten?"

"He bears many bruises, but no broken bones. There are open wounds all over one side of his face and on the side of his head, but they will heal. I have no doubt that he will live."

"That is good," Sereg says.

"The medicine I gave him should have the bruises and lacerations on his face all but healed by tomorrow night. And his strength will definitely have fully returned by the morning."

A chill shoots up my spine. For as they speak, a soft warmth begins to spread all the way out to my extremities. The numb coldness is chased away, and the strength in my muscles begins to return. And fast. Slowly, gingerly, I raise a hand to my face, running my fingers over the scratches, which have now turned to ridges that run along my face, No pain comes from the extra pressure, and I quickly realize that they are more like Men's scars than open wounds. The same is true for the bruises: the pain is remarkably alleviated. If it weren't for my severe hunger, I would feel like myself again. And I loathe it. Suddenly I begin to regret throwing that mask away, for I may need it again ere this is over.

Or should I just let go?

Should I give in and allow them to know?

Get out of this mess? Go home? And face the consequences so soon?

My brow furrows as the answer storms into my mind.

No.

After my stomach and water skin are full and my weapons and belongings are recovered, I will do what I have been doing for what has seemed like the past eternity.

Flee.

* * *

**Elvish phrases:**

_****__Tancavë -_ **Yes**

_**Mellon nin**_** - My friend **


End file.
